The Kill
by kalyzio
Summary: Edward succumbs to his thirst, and makes a kill. Overcome with guilt and shame after a confrontation with Carlisle turns bitter, he runs away. Warning: contains corporal punishment.


WARNING: this story does contain a smidge of corporal punishment. While it is not the focus of the story (the strengthening bond between Edward and Carlisle _is_), if corporal punishment in stories bothers you, move along. Enjoy.

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It was day 262 when Edward stopped keeping count of the days since his transformation. In truth, he didn't know why he had even bothered counting to begin with. When he looked into his future, he saw nothing but a cruel bleakness - an eternity of the same, meaningless life, an eternity consumed with an aching thirst that he was loathe to satiate.

They had moved, Carlisle and him, to a small town in Maine. Perhaps Carlisle, discerning as always of his moods, had thought that a change in scenery would help him to adjust.

It had, admittedly, been exciting at first: the immortality, the _power - _he had tasted the sweetness of invincibility.

But now, all he had left was the bitter aftertaste. One by one, he had watched his friends and family succumb to the Spanish Influenza that had almost claimed his own life. Suddenly, immortality had no longer seemed such a gift. Was there a meaning to eternal life, when there was nothing to live for? Hell, even cultivating friendships, once so easy, was now impossible. He couldn't yet look a human in the eye, not without feeling the hunger sear through his nerves, gripping his muscles, directing his movements as if he were a stranger in his own body.

He felt that hunger now, as he watched the humans playing baseball .

They weren't aware of him, so intent were they on their game.

The batter stepped up. He swung mightily, the bat smacking into the ball with a loud _thwack!_, and Edward's eyes traced the spherical path of the ball as it arched high, high -

A lone shortstop, with straw colored hair that fell in his eyes, ran after it.

Toward him.

_So easy. So vulnerable._

Time itself seemed to slow. The ball spiraled.

Edward set his jaw, his hands clenching at his side as he took slow, deep breaths to control himself.

_Why? Why do you stand here playing at decency when you are a monster?_

He closed his eyes, despairingly. Why indeed? Why did he fight this hunger, this maddeningly hunger that burnt as fiercely as desire?

_Just this once…_

No!

_You are weak. Blood will strengthen you._

He couldn't, he wouldn't.

_Bend to me, Edward. You are tantalized. You yearn for this great life force. Why do you deny what is yours by right? It is the way of nature. The lion feeds on the lamb…_

He crouched into a hunter's position. His hands raised, his fingers curled, claw-like.

…_the predator feeds on the prey…_

Eyes black as night, he lunged.

***

The deed was done, and Edward safely hidden atop the trees, when the boy's friends finally came looking for him. He flinched to hear their jokes and jibes turn to screams, their wails of fear and loss. A lazy afternoon of baseball turned to horror.

Another kill, he realized wretchedly, another life he had ruined. And what of the boy's family? Did he have a mother who would weep, a father who would see all his dreams, his hopes and aspirations, come crashing down?

Anger suddenly raged through him, as desperate and furious as the hunger had been. He needed release, or he would go insane.

There was only one he could turn to.

Edward leapt through the trees, blindingly fast, movements enhanced by the blood he had drank, and even before his mind had fully caught up to his actions, he found himself standing outside the clinic where Carlisle worked. And then he was inside, brushing past the receptionist without even a glance, throwing the door open with such strength that he nearly unhinged it.

Carlisle had been speaking with another doctor. He glanced up, his smooth forehead creasing with confusion, even as he slowly set down the clipboard he had been holding.

"I need to speak with you. Right now," Edward grated out.

The receptionist, a bumbly, curly-haired woman, finally caught up, still panting as she reached the doorway. "Dr. Cullen, I am so sorry, so very sorry for the interruption," she said, "He just barged in, I couldn't stop him - "

Carlisle held up a hand to stave off her profuse apologies, and smiled reassuringly. "It's quite all right, Mary. I will take it from here. Excuse me, please," he said, to the doctor he had been speaking with.

"Certainly, Dr. Cullen." The man looked oddly at Edward as he exited the room, and Edward forced himself to keep his eyes trained at a point just past the man's shoulder. Even though he had satiated his hunger, there was something in him that still wanted _more_.

Carlisle waited until the door had clicked shut before he spoke, his tone gentle. "What is this about, Edward?"

Edward paced, struggling to control his whirlwind of thoughts. "I killed someone."

There. He had said it, put the awful truth out there plainly. He waited to be judged; he _wanted_ Carlisle's anger. He had possibly exposed their presence, he had capitulated to a moment's weakness, he had _murdered_…

But Carlisle said simply, "I see."

Shocked, Edward's head jerked up, and he shot the older man a piercing look. That was it? That was all Carlisle could say after hearing such an atrocity?

He searched Carlisle's thoughts, but there was no anger, no condemnation there. There was only sadness.

Somehow, inexplicably, that only infuriated him more. "Well?" he snapped, his tone hard, "Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

Carlisle's brow furrowed. "What would you like me to do?"

"Yell at me. Hit me. Punish me. I don't know! Something other than stand there, in a clean, white coat, and pretend that _nothing is wrong!_" He was shouting now, all semblance of control gone.

Quick as lightening, Carlisle moved. "Quiet down," he warned, his fingers suddenly tight around Edward's upper arm, "The humans will hear."

Finally, a reaction. He wanted more.

Edward glared. "And if I don't? What then, Carlisle?"

_Please, let us not test the upper bounds._ "I don't know, Edward," Carlisle said softly, "And I'm not so sure either of us truly wishes to find out."

Edward hesitated, about a fraction of a second, and then his anger returned, blinding and clamoring for release. "You go to hell," he hissed, "You made my life a living one. I didn't _ask_ for this. You brought me into this, you selfishly made me what I am."

Startled, Carlisle's grip on him loosened, and in that second, Edward jerked away.

Betrayal and hurt slammed into him - Carlisle's thoughts - and suddenly, Edward could take it no more. He whirled, smashed a fist through the window, and then he was running, the night enveloping him in a dark embrace.

***

It felt like an eternity until his anger faded, and Edward felt hollow as the emotion receded, leaving him only with deep shame.

He had run and run and run - how far he had run, where he had ended up, he did not know.

Canada, he thought, glancing up and taking in the mountains, breathing in the crisp, icy air; he was probably in Canada.

Emotionally exhausted, Edward leaned back against a tree, feeling the rough wood press into his back. He closed his eyes momentarily, and was suddenly overcome with memory of Carlisle's expression, the shock in his face, the pain in his eyes, when he had so carelessly thrown out those words. His knees buckled from underneath him.

If he were still capable of tears, he thought he might cry.

He hadn't meant his words - any of them. _Carlisle! Forgive me!_

He was awash with memories of a different sort now. Carlisle - ever the gentle, compassionate doctor. The man was an inspiration. He had taken his immortality and turned it for good, used the years to hone his craft until he was one of the finest, most highly educated doctors in the world. And he had never been anything but kind to Edward. He had readily shared his wealth, bought Edward anything his heart desired, even though he had done nothing to deserve gifts.

Edward felt empty and sick inside. What had he done? His hurtful words had sundered him from the only good thing in this life. And what now? He had never tried being a vampire without Carlisle. Carlisle had been the one constant, his one reassurance, in this tumultuous new reality.

He wanted to die. He had been so angry at Carlisle, and for what? For something that had been entirely his own fault! He had lost control, over both his hunger, and then later, his anger.

No. Not only that. He had lost his one friend. His mentor.

Alone with only desolation and guilt for company, Edward's chin dropped to his chest, and his body shook with dry sobs.

***

He didn't know how long he huddled there - funny, how meaningless time became when one had eternity - but when Edward finally raised his head, the sun was gleaming.

He didn't want to rise, he didn't care to do anything, ever again.

But then his sharp hearing caught the barest of sounds - a crunch of leaves, too distinctly two-footed to be animal. And no sooner had he processed that, then he saw what surely must be an illusion: Carlisle, standing before him, offering a hand.

He blinked owlishly upwards. "Carlisle."

Disbelief coursed through him. After what he had said, after that ugly scene, Carlisle was here? "You came after me," he said, the words rolling out thickly, as if he couldn't believe that this was actually happening, "You came all this way."

"I did."

Simple words, but with conviction behind every syllable, as if there had never been any doubt that Carlisle would come after him. Edward's eyes burned from want of tears. He didn't take Carlisle's hand; he didn't deserve this additional kindness.

"I insulted you." The words were barely a whisper.

A pause. Then: "Yes and no, Edward." Soundlessly, Carlisle withdrew his hand and dropped to a crouch, forcing their eyes to meet. Edward tried to look away, but found he couldn't. He feared this might actually be an illusion, and if he looked away, he'd realize that Carlisle wasn't actually there.

"I don't understand."

Carlisle sighed deeply, taking a moment to form his words. "You were…not wrong. I changed you partially for selfish reasons, and I am truly sorry if you feel that I have ruined your life."

His thoughts were emanating regret, and Edward ached to hear them. "No!" the word burst from him. "I didn't mean what I said. Please believe me. I didn't. I swear I didn't mean it."

"Thank God." Carlisle sounded fervent.

Edward tentatively tested the older man's thoughts, but there was no anger there, none of the hate that he had been so sure Carlisle must now harbor towards him. No, all he heard was, _I want to make things right between us. Edward. Please tell me. Please tell me what you need._

He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by Carlisle's concern. "Why don't you hate me?"

_Hate you? I could never…_ "Edward, that is not possible." _I think of you as my son._

"What?" Completely startled, he spoke without thinking.

_Good Lord, he heard that, didn't he? Edward, I hadn't meant for you to catch that thought - no, not because I didn't want you to hear it, but because it's well, frankly, it's embarrassing, the depth of the feeling. But at least it saves me the trouble of actually vocalizing these words._

Hastily Edward tried to withdraw, to put up mental walls. He felt like he had listened in on something too personal.

Carlisle thought of him as a son. A son! Edward had never imagined he would have family again, not in this life.

"Tell me," said Carlisle, "Tell me how you think we should proceed."

He had his answer, had known it from the second he had caught Carlisle's stray thought. "Punish me."

Carlisle frowned. "For what, exactly?"

"To make things right," Edward clarified, looking deep into the older man's eyes, and trying to make him understand. His guilt was a burden, one he knew would not be easily absolved, not until he felt he had made amends in some manner. "I succumbed to weakness and killed." Even now, he had difficulty saying those words, without remembering with shocking clarity the broken body he had left behind. "I lost my temper with you. I made you run all the way to Canada."

The last he added for some attempt at levity, but Carlisle was still frowning. "Edward," he sounded almost plaintive, "Would it not be easier for you to simply accept forgiveness? We all have our moments of weakness. The choice we have made is not an easy one. No one would fault you."

"No one except the dead boy's family. His friends."

Carlisle's jaw tightened. "Regardless - "

"Carlisle."

Still frowning, Carlisle nevertheless stopped talking. His amber eyes were appraising as they swept him up and down, and Edward tried to look more confident than he felt. He needed this, he knew he needed this to rid himself of his guilt, but that didn't make asking for it or accepting it easy.

"If you insist," Carlisle finally said, sounding unhappy.

Despite the victory, Edward felt his throat go dry at those words. He nodded roughly, trying not to betray his sudden nervousness.

"On one condition," Carlisle said, "We do this on my terms. You accept what I decide, and that is the end of that. Do you agree?"

"Yes." He wished his voice had sounded stronger.

Carlisle smoothly stood up, and offered his hand again. This time, Edward took it.

Impassively, Carlisle handed him a small pocket knife. "Cut a switch."

Here? Now? Edward hadn't thought it possible for vampires to sweat, but his hands suddenly felt clammy. "A switch?" he echoed, struggling to keep his voice even.

"You've been punished before, I'm sure."

"With a paddle," he said nervously.

Carlisle smiled slightly. "I grew up in the 1600s, Edward, in England. Different times, different methods, I'm afraid. Unless you are quite the craftsman, and can cut a paddle from one of the many pieces of wood available."

"Wonderful." He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his tone as he looked helplessly around. He hadn't the faintest clue how to begin selecting a branch, but Carlisle was looking at him expectantly, and Edward did not want to draw out the uncomfortable moment any longer than necessary. He selected one with a finger's thickness, and cut it, paring off the stray branches. Unable to look at Carlisle, he offered it.

The older vampire took it from him, and gave it an experimental swish. Edward wished he could close his ears off from the sound.

"Good," Carlisle approved, "Very good."

The anticipation was torture. Edward fancied he was flushing red with embarrassment.

Carlisle nodded toward the tree. "Palms on the trunk, and bend over."

Wondering what in the world had possessed him to ask for - to _insist _on - this, Edward complied. His ears felt red hot - impossible, he knew, but this was unbelievably embarrassing, to have his ass sticking out in such a vulnerable fashion. And if memory served him, it was only about to get worse.

He heard Carlisle move into position behind him, and a second later, felt the switch against his backside. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting.

"Edward, I'm sure you've heard this before. You do not always receive what you want."

The switch lifted, and then tapped.

Confused, Edward opened his mouth to protest, when it suddenly lifted again, and…_owwwww._ It felt like a line of fire had been cut, a deep sort of agony that somehow still managed to sting furiously, like a thousand needles, at the same time. On some level, he knew he didn't need to breathe, but he gasped for air all the same.

"But sometimes you do," Carlisle said dryly.

A pause, as the older vampire allowed the object lesson to sink in. Then: "You will always thirst for human blood. You will always desire it. It is who we are. You will want to avoid your thirst, but there will be times you cannot. And when that happens, you are no more at fault than when a carnivore eats meat. It is a testament to your strength whenever you follow your conscience, but it is not weakness when you err." Another pause, and then when Carlisle spoke again, Edward thought he heard a smile, "If you were a vampire without a conscience as you so fear, believe me, we would not be in this situation."

The switch tapped again. Edward exhaled a shaky breath.

"Stand up," Carlisle said softly.

Incredulously, not sure if he was pleased that his punishment was over or annoyed that it had been so lenient, Edward did. He glanced uncertainly at Carlisle, certain that his confusion showed on his face.

"You agreed to my terms," Carlisle reminded, "This is the second lesson. _Mercy_. Sometimes you will fail yourself. You have high standards, Edward, and it makes you into the good man that you are, but you must learn to be merciful on yourself."

"I don't know if I can."

Carlisle smiled. "Well, why do you think I'm here?"

Edward felt a rush of warmth at those words. He wasn't alone.

"Even if you are the world's slowest learner, Edward, I suppose we have an eternity."

An eternity that now seemed bright instead of filled with despair. An eternity with the man he was fast coming to think of as a father. That wasn't so awful after all. Edward found himself smiling. It felt strange, unfamiliar at first.

"Race you back to Maine?" he said, a peace offering of sorts.

Carlisle's smile broadened. "On one condition. Since you naturally run faster than me, then by the time I see you in Maine, you had better have earned the money - legally - to pay me back for the window you broke."

His eyes blazed with excitement at the challenge. "I'll be rolling in twenties when you see me."

"That's my boy," said Carlisle softly, again sending that rush of warmth and pride through Edward, and then the older vampire's grin turned competitive, "See you in Maine."

Maine…their home. Their home for now.

Edward gladly raced back.

**The End**

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